


Sleep

by autisticaizawashouta



Series: Gender is Hard 'verse [19]
Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Anxiety, Blood, Canon Queer Character, Depression, Depression is not beautiful, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Food, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Insomnia, Mental Health Issues, Other, Platonic Cuddling, Platonic Life Partners, Platonic Relationships, Queer Character, Queer Themes, Self-Harm, Suicidal Thoughts, cursing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-24
Updated: 2018-05-24
Packaged: 2019-05-13 06:59:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14744105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/autisticaizawashouta/pseuds/autisticaizawashouta
Summary: Sometimes Virgil sleeps. Sometimes they don't. And sometimes, their mental illnesses get the best of them."The evening hangs beneath the moon,A silver thread on darkened dune.With closing eyes and resting headI know that sleep is coming soon.Upon my pillow, safe in bed,A thousand pictures fill my head.I cannot sleep, my mind’s a-flight;And yet my limbs seem made of lead.If there are noises in the night,A frightening shadow, flickering light,Then I surrender unto sleep,Where clouds of dream give second sight,What dreams may come, both dark and deep,Of flying wings and soaring leapAs I surrender unto sleep,As I surrender unto sleep."Sleep, by Charles Anthony Silvestri (go listen to the choral setting by Eric Whitacre)





	Sleep

**Author's Note:**

> Please let me know if I missed a tag! The self-harm is fairly graphically described, so if that's a trigger for you, please be judicious about whether or not to read this installment.  
> This is the GIHV, pronouns are as follows: Virgil, they/them; Patton, he/him; Remy, they/them; October, fae/faer

Sometimes, the bad days seemed to happen with no rhyme or reason to them. If they took a step back, they could identify some sort of underlying cause, beyond the general anxiety and depression. Of course, it’s hard to take a step back during the bad days, the bad weeks.

It might start innocuously. Maybe they’d wake up feeling grumpy, or maybe they’d wake up and go right back to sleep. Sometimes, they laid in bed for hours on their phone, trying to summon the will to just get out of the damn bed.

It became obvious with the alternating lack of emotions and overstimulation. They’d swing from apathetic, emotionless, numb, to anxious, self-hating.

Self-harm relapses were rare. Rare enough that they’d only had one within the last year and a half.

There was the overwhelming feeling, that nothing was worth it. That nothing would be worth it. That everything took too much energy. They couldn’t write, because there were no ideas to put on the page. They hated leaving the apartment, because outside, it was a coin toss whether they’d dissociate or have a panic attack.

And then, even after managing to slog through a whole day, they couldn’t sleep at night. They didn’t feel like they could sleep, even with exhaustion settling deep into their bones. Even with their thoughts, sluggish or fleeting but hard to grasp either way. Even with the lack of emotion, which should allow them to sleep, that just somehow made it worse.

Patton noticed. Of course, he noticed. As in-tune with everyone’s emotions as he was, how could he not?

And Virgil, distantly hating themself for it in the moment and definitely hating themself for it later, they pushed him away.

Patton was at work. He had to be, especially with the hospital bills, even when Virgil’s mental illnesses were acting up.

Sometimes, Virgil wished that Patton hadn’t saved their life. Maybe he’d be better off, happier. He wouldn’t have ridiculous medical bills.

A notification popped up while they were scrolling apathetically through tumblr. Roman had sent them a message. They didn’t look at it.

They knew, okay? They knew it wasn’t good. They knew they shouldn’t isolate themself. They knew they should be calling Emile, or talking to Roman, or Remy and October. They knew they should be doing something, anything, other than isolating themself.

It almost hurt, how empty they felt and how little they could bring themself to care. The future seemed unreal, nonexistent. An abstract concept, something that didn’t exist and wouldn’t.

It hurt and they hated themself and they couldn’t care.

 

* * *

 

Patton knew Virgil was having a bad, well, week. He had lived with Virgil for years. He knew the signs. They got snappier, restless and apathetic.

And they’d push him away.

He tried not to let it hurt. They weren’t doing it on purpose. They weren’t doing it to hurt him. Quite the opposite, in fact- they did it because they were hurting.

So, he went to work. He watched his kids- because after almost a full school year of teaching them, they were his kids- and felt his heart swell at how they had grown over the year. Marie, Jonah, Talaina, Payton, and Winter had grown closer together and were a tight-knit group of friends. Kiara’s family had let her get her hair dyed blue, which got some dirty looks from some adults, but she loved her hair.

And so, after a day of very few behavioral issues, Patton almost dreaded going home. He tried his best not to hold Virgil’s mental health issues against them. He tried not to let it hurt.

When he got home, Virgil wasn’t in the living room or the kitchen, and neither was Caoimhe. Patton set his bag down on the table and walked to the bedroom. The door was closed. He hesitated as he reached for the doorknob, his heart seeming to lurch in his chest. Subconsciously, he pulled his hand back, but he steeled himself and reached out again, turning the knob and opening the door.

Caoimhe looked up from where she was laying on the bed, curled up in the crook of Virgil’s knee with her head on their leg. Seeing it was only Patton, she huffed and laid her head back down. Virgil was asleep, and all signs pointed to them not having left the room, which meant that they probably hadn’t eaten that day, either.

Patton sighed, keeping it as quiet as possible, and walked over to the bed. He looked down at Virgil and his heart clenched. He loved them. They were thoroughly unconscious, black-and-purple hair a mess, sticking out from under the hood of the blue hoodie, an old one of Patton’s, that they were wearing.

He sighed again, a slight smile on his lips, and reached down. He put a hand on their shoulder and stood there for a moment, just feeling the rhythm of their breath. It was steady, and there, and it was proof that they were still there, still alive.

The moment passed, and he left the room, carefully closing the door behind him so it wouldn’t wake Virgil. He grabbed a couple of granola bars, some chocolate, and a bottle of Gatorade and took them all back to the bedroom, leaving them on the bedside table and then retreating again.

He had lessons to plan.

 

* * *

 

Virgil woke up and felt guilty. Almost the first thing they saw was the food and Gatorade on the table. Patton was home, and of course, he had figured out that they had barely gotten out of bed at all and hadn’t even managed to eat. He was still taking care of them, even when they didn’t deserve it, didn’t deserve him.

They hadn’t told him. Maybe he had guessed, but they hadn’t told him. And hell, they knew that he wouldn’t react like that—wouldn’t react like _him_ —but that didn’t stop the fear, the anxiety, the uncertainty from worming its way in, from clawing at their chest with _what-ifs_.

When they had told him, the way he had reacted, the way he wouldn’t look at them the same way, how me had been reluctant to touch them again…

Patton wouldn’t react like that. He wasn’t like him, he wasn’t like the handful of people they had told. He would care. He wouldn’t ignore it. He wouldn’t let that change the way he thought of them.

Virgil _knew_ that, but they still hadn’t told him.

There were a lot of things they were afraid to tell him, that they probably should tell him.

They groaned and covered their eyes with a hand. Caoimhe wiggled, cuddling in closer to them. What had they done to deserve Patton and Caoimhe, to deserve Esme and Oliver and Remy and October and Emile and the whole Sanders clan?

Okay, enough of that. There was food. And _Gatorade_. Focus on that. Get out of bed. Maybe talk to Patton.

They pushed themself up into a sitting position, and then scooted so they were leaning against the headboard. Caoimhe followed and laid down on their lap. They reached over and picked up one of the granola bars, unwrapped it, and took a bite.

It tasted like cardboard. Food was good for them, though, so they forced themself to eat it even though it was really the last thing they wanted to do. It didn’t taste good and they didn’t want to be eating.

All day had gone by without them eating, though. This was the first time they had eaten something in over twenty-four hours and eating something would probably help the episode end faster.

So they ate the granola bars. The Gatorade was more palatable, and they drank about a quarter of it before re-capping it. They set it back on the nightstand and stuck their legs over the edge of the bed.

It struck them, not for the first time, just how long their legs were. It wasn’t a surprise, but sometimes they just… noticed. Especially in cars. But sometimes at other times, too.

The carpet felt weird on the soles of their feet. Standing up was almost strange. They went slowly, not to get light-headed, grabbed their Gatorade and left the room. Caoimhe followed them into the living room, where Patton was on the couch with his laptop and was typing on it. He looked up when the two of them entered the room.

“Hey,” he said, smiling.

Virgil replied with a vaguely greeting-like grunt and sat down on the other end of the couch, sticking their feet on Patton’s lap. They weren’t feeling cuddly or sociable, but they could at least put some effort into something.

It was especially hard when their words wouldn’t cooperate. That just happened, sometimes. It might be anxiety. It might be exhaustion. But sometimes, words just didn’t work.

What had they ever done to deserve Patton?

 

* * *

 

That night, Patton let himself fall asleep, hoping that the worst of this episode was over.

The next morning, Virgil didn’t wake up when he got up, but that wasn’t unsurprising. They were probably still catching up on sleep after several nights of insomnia. They’d be okay that evening though, and he left for the school, feeling happier than he had in several days.

 

* * *

 

Virgil hadn’t slept much that night. Their thoughts had kept them awake, turning over and over in their head. Snippets of familiar thoughts. Flashes of memories and words and regrets. Things they had done years ago, things that had happened to them, had haunted him again in the night.

Patton had already left for work when they woke. Their body felt heavy, leaden, and slow as they pushed themselves up and stood up. They were upright. That was good.

They still hated themself.

They had barely managed one word to Patton last night. One. Word. He deserved so much better…

Caoimhe was looking at them. They looked back at her, and then walked into the kitchen. She needed a walk and they… they couldn’t even make themself leave the apartment. She deserved better, too.

It wouldn’t hurt, if they weren’t around anymore. They wouldn’t have to worry about the future.

…They wouldn’t get to see the next How to Train Your Dragon movie, either. Or see the next update of the fic they were reading.

Breathe.

Oxygen does wonders for the brain. They leaned against the counter, taking deep breaths, for a few moments. After a bit, they felt more stable, although the burning ball of emotions remained in their chest.

It was a strange paradox, apathy and self-hatred and regret and bitterness and hopelessness. They couldn’t care, and yet they felt so strongly.

They should eat. The box of granola bars was still on the counter. They grabbed one, opened it, and took a bite.

They could barely swallow it. They slapped it back down on the counter.

Their hand kind of stung.

The apathy, the void that had been between them and all the pain, it shattered into a million glass shards. It felt like the emotions were trying to claw their way out of their chest.

Caoimhe nuzzled their leg.

A harsh, choking sob clawed its way out of their chest.

The world seemed to drop away as they stumbled towards the bathroom. It was there, yet it wasn’t, everything felt far away and yet too much and the emotions in their chest were overwhelming.

They shut the door, shutting Caoimhe out, shutting Patton out, shutting the world out. Their legs seemed to give way, and they curled in on themself on the bathroom floor, choking back sobs and rocking and wishing it didn’t hurt so much. Something, anything to stop this- this hurt.

There was something.

Physical pain always hurt less than mental, than emotional. Physical pain could be handled. You could see it. It was easier.

Their hands were steady as they opened the drawer. Maybe they should be shaking? Oh well. It didn’t matter. All that mattered was making the pain easier.

There was scratching on the door.

They broke open the razor head. In the past, they had burnt themself, used pocket knives and the sharp ends of sticks and their own nails—whatever they could get their hands on, really. Razor blades left scars, permanent marks that could be seen in the future, badges of shame that would always be there.

But it was what they had on hand.

The relief wasn’t immediate. Blood beaded in the cut behind where they dragged the blade. The next one was deeper, stung more, bled more.

They didn’t cut on their arms. They had before, in the past, and the scars there were the most shameful because they were so easy to uncover.

No, they lifted the edge of their shirt and cut into the smooth, soft skin on their side towards the bottom of their ribcage. No one had to look there unless they showed it to them.

The next cut, right above the first two, and relief was starting to come. The physical pain was numbing the emotional, would drown it out.

Six cuts, fresh and red and exact. The cuts were bleeding. Their side stung. But their head was quieter. The emotions were more manageable.

Wait.

They just _did_ that.

They hadn’t relapsed in over a year and a half.

Things had been going _better_.

They did that.

“Oh my god.”

The words that hadn’t come the night before finally released.

“Fuck,” they whispered. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Okay. Shit. I did that.”

Okay, breathe.

They took a deep breath and did their best to steady themself.

“Okay, first thing, first thing I gotta clean these,” they said, setting the (bloody) blade on the counter. They gripped the edge of it, cold hard wood biting into the flesh of their palm. Taking their time, they stood up.

“Should’ve taken my shirt off first, whatever, it’s black,” they said, pulling their shirt off. “Okay. Hydrogen peroxide. Cotton balls. Tape and gauze and band-aids.” They muttered to themself as they pulled out the things they needed.

“Peroxide first,” they muttered, getting the cotton ball wet with the disinfecting agent. They hissed as they wiped at the cuts. Disinfecting hurt in a different way than causing. Once they were done with the cotton ball, they threw it away and dabbed at their side with a couple squares of toilet paper to dry them off. The bloodied toilet paper went in the garbage as well, and they got one of the big square band-aids out and put it over the cuts. Once that was done, they secured it with strip of tape because otherwise it would fall off at the first possible opportunity, the second they bend the wrong way.

They took another deep breath, and then threw away the band-aid-related garbage and put away everything else. There were a couple clean razorblades glinting almost innocently in the light, and then, a half a foot away, the bloody one.

The plastic remains of the razor also got thrown away. They carefully wrapped all the blades up in toilet paper and taped it up. It was a bit of a stop-gap measure, but better than putting naked razor blades in the trash.

The spot where the bloody one had been got disinfected and wiped down, too.

And the next step was harder, but it was one they should’ve taken days ago.

Caoimhe was frantic at the door when they opened it. She rushed them, nuzzling their legs and pawing for one of their hands.

“Hey,” they whispered, rubbing her head. They blinked back tears. “Hey.” Their breath hitched, and they couldn’t blink back the tears anymore. They weren’t sobbing, but they were crying at their breath was unsteady.

Their hands were finally shaking.

Caoimhe followed them to the bedroom. Their phone was on the bedside table. They picked it up and made the call.

He picked up. They hadn’t been sure he would.

_“Virgil? How’re things going?”_

They exhaled, a teary huff of breath. “Emile. I, uh, fuck. I relapsed.” They closed their eyes and grit their teeth.

_“Are you alone right now?”_

“Uh, just Caoimhe, yeah,” they replied.

_“Okay. Have you taken care of whatever injury it is?”_

Virgil nodded, as if Emile could see them there. “Uh, yeah, yeah I did.”

_“Patton’s probably at work right now, huh. Is there someone else you can call over?”_

Virgil stopped for a moment. There was Remy, but they had classes, or…

“Yeah, there is,” they said.

_“Alright. Call them. I have time tomorrow; do you want to come in?”_

“Yeah,” they replied. “And, um, Emile?”

_“Yes?”_

They took a deep breath. “I think I’m, I’m ready… I need to give medications a shot.”

_“Are you sure?”_

“As sure as I can ever be,” they said, closing their eyes. “Yes.”

_“Alrighty then. Does tomorrow from 1:30 to 3:00 work for you?”_

“Yeah,” Virgil replied.

_“I’ll see you then.”_

“Yeah, see you, Doc,” they said, and hung up. They took a deep breath and called the next person. “October? Are you free?”

 

* * *

 

October was heading home when fae got the call. Fae looked at Virgil’s name on faer phone and raised an eyebrow. It was somewhat unusual for them to be calling instead of texting.

_“October? Are you free?”_

Their voice was off. Something was wrong.

“Yeah, just heading home from the library,” fae replied. “You need something?”

_“Uh, do you think you could maybe… come over?”_

“Well, first I’d need to know where you live,” fae said. “But yep. I can.”

_“You’d take the 24 bus and get off the bus at the stop like right before you go by Domino’s, uh, by 25 th, and then you go left on 25th and left on Portland and at those apartments I live in 17.”_

Well, at least fae was already downtown and at the bus station there. “Alright. I’m actually downtown right now, I’ll text you when I’m on the bus heading your direction,” fae said.

_“Okay.”_

“See you soon,” fae said.

_“Yeah. See you soon._ ” There was a beep as Virgil hung up.

October put faer phone back in faer pocket and found the correct bay to wait for the 24 bus at. Faer mood was… contemplative, and worried. Virgil hadn’t sounded quite right, and it was the first time that anyone in their little friend group was being invited over to faer house. The group had been to Toni and Teagan’s before, had visited Remy’s dorm, and even been to October’s house. Fae’d be the first to visit Virgil’s place of residence.

The bus came, and fae sent that text to Virgil. They texted back _ok_.

October honestly didn’t know what fae expected when fae knocked on the door to apartment 17. The door opened, and faer gaze scanned Virgil’s appearance.

They looked pale, their freckles standing out more than usual. Their hair was messy and it looked like it had been four or five days since they had showered. It hung in their face, falling over one eye. They were wearing a blue hoodie and grey sweats and, honestly, looked exhausted.

“Hey,” they said. They stepped to the side, gesturing for faer to come in.

“Hi Virgil,” fae replied, stepping over the threshold. Caoimhe was right next to Virgil, and seemed to be clingier than usual. “I’m not complaining, but why did you call me?”

“I shouldn’t be alone right now,” Virgil replied, their voice low, almost as if shameful which… they were. They were looking down but watching October from the corner of their eyes.

“Can I ask why?” fae said, and Virgil nibbled on their lip.

“You have depression. Well, um, so do I, and I shouldn’t…” They trailed off and shook their head. “Patton’s at work and Remy’s got classes and I’m not as close to Teagan and Toni as I am to you and, well, yeah.”

October watched them for a moment.

“That sucks,” fae finally said. “Do you need me to do anything while I’m here? Or is just being here enough?”

“Just being here is enough,” Virgil replied. They looked away, fingers playing with the ends of the hoodie sleeves. They were well-worn. “I’m sorry. I’m really not very good company right now.”

“Implying that you’re ever good company,” October joked, bumping shoulders with them. “Don’t worry about it. I get it. I’m not very good company some days, either.”

Virgil nodded. “Anyways,” they said, gesturing into the kitchen. “Feel free to help yourself to whatever’s in the fridge or the cupboards or whatever.”

“Will do,” fae replied, following them to the living room.

 

* * *

 

Patton checked his phone once all the kids had left the school. He had one text from Virgil, informing him that October was over. October was over? Last Patton knew, none of Virgil’s friends actually knew where they lived. He was torn between being proud of Virgil for reaching out, and wondering what had prompted it.

He sent them a text to let them know he was on his way home, leaving the school earlier than usual. It was the kind of day that warranted that.

Once the car was parked at the apartment complex, he headed to the apartment. Virgil had texted while he was driving to let him know that they were sending October home, which struck him as kind of odd. Why had they?

He entered the apartment, wondering what he’d find. Virgil was curled up on the floor of the living room, leaning on the couch, with Caoimhe curled up on one side of them. They looked up through their hair when he walked in.

“I sent October home,” they said. Good. They were talking again. “I didn’t exactly… want faer here for this conversation.”

Patton’s heart dropped.

“Yeah?” he said, his heart pounding.

Virgil took a breath. “Patton, I…” They looked down. “I. Uh. Well, I…” They covered half of their face with one hand. “Shit. A year and a fucking half. I relapsed. I fucking relapsed.” They shook their head, breath jumping like they were about to start crying.

Patton sat down next to them and wrapped an arm around their shoulders, pulling them in close as they leaned into him.

“I’m sorry,” they whispered. “I couldn’t. I just. Shit. I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize,” he replied, rubbing a hand up and down their shoulder. “You’re okay, I love you, you don’t have to apologize.”

They shook their head, sniffling.

“I’m really not okay,” they said. “I’m. I’m gonna try meds.”

“Good,” he said. “Good for you. You’re going to be okay.”

“Yeah,” they agreed. “Yeah. Maybe I will.”

Patton leaned back. “Virgil. Look at me.”

They looked at him, grey eyes reddened.

“You are going to be okay. You are going to get better,” he said. “Tell me that. Tell me that you’re going to be okay.”

“I-I’m going to be okay,” they replied. They didn’t quite believe it yet.

He pulled them close again. “God, I love you so much. You’re going to be okay, alright?”

“I love you too,” they murmured.

That night, Patton saw the band-aid taped over a section of skin on Virgil’s side, towards the bottom of their ribcage. In a week or two, there’d be six new scars, too even and too precise to be anything but deliberate. Things would get better. In a year or two, they’d have made even more process. They might have told Patton some of the things they need to tell him that they hadn’t yet spoken.

(Some things are too hard to speak when you’ve already been ignored, already been the subject of disgusted gazes.)

But that night, the cuts on their body were still fresh, the wounds in their mind were still in the process of healing, and they fell asleep, Patton in their arms and them in his arms, the thought in their head that they would get better.

They would be okay.

**Author's Note:**

> This is literally just me projecting all over Virgil, poor bab. Anyways. Their relapsing has been planned for a bit, now I can move on to more exciting things. Like /him/. Or maybe introducing Virgil's family. Still haven't decided what order I want to do those in...  
> Also, whoever can figure out where Virgil, Patton, October, and Remy live gets a cybercookie.  
> It is also 2:52 am and I should be asleep. I should maybe try surrendering unto sleep.  
> If you enjoyed, please leave a kudos, and if you want to, I love getting comments and getting to reply to you and mutually scream!  
> With love,  
> Kestrel Daniel  
> (they/them)  
> ps: this au has an ask blog, @gender-is-hard-asks. or you can bug me on my main tumblr, @bird-based-anarchy  
> pps: this is the longest story in this series as of posting.


End file.
